I Learned From a Friend
by Tomi Storm
Summary: Mycroft points out that Sherlock doesn't know much about sex. So Sherlock does something about that. Occurs during Belgravia. Masturbation and Oral. JSYK.


"Sex doesn't alarm me."

"Like you would know."

Sherlock scowls ever so slightly. His brows twinge and his eyes open a little wider than before. That hurt. It hurt more than it should have, Sherlock thinks. It's something Sherlock has always been insecure about. Sherlock is a virgin. He doesn't think about it too much, but, yeah, it's a fact and it won't change unless he decides to go out and lose it to someone. But he's not interested in that. If there's nothing concerning serial murder or solving a mystery, he's not interested. Except he is. Or at least, someone of his age should be. That's what he's always thought. Him being apathetic about sex makes him abnormal, as far as he and most other people are concerned, and he knows that. Mycroft knows it too. That's why he said it.

Ever since their childhood, Mycroft and Sherlock have been at ends, and that's normal, since they are, in fact, brothers. Sherlock was a bother to Mycroft; his curiosity and inquisitive nature drove him up a wall on most occasions. His questions were often in the realm of "are monsters real" and "how come we aren't allowed to drink that yellow stuff in mum's glass." To say he was blindsided by one particular question of Sherlock's would be a gross understatement.

"Mycroft, where do children come from?" the boy asked innocently.

Sherlock was around 5 or 6 years old at the time, so it was inevitable that he would eventually ask someone. Just not Mycroft. He sighed and answered candidly. "From their parents. A man and woman get together and have sex. Nine months later they have a baby."

Sherlock, albeit only recently leaving the toddler stage, continued to pester his elder brother. "So how do you 'have sex?'" he prodded further, bringing a groan from the boy.

"Ugh, ask mum. Please, I don't want to talk about this." He carried on with his own affairs, leaving Sherlock confused and miffed. The question came up a few other times casually, during their study time or at lunch, and Mycroft never answered. Eventually he let go of the topic for a few years, figuring he'd learn eventually. Of course as a prodigal youngster he learned the mechanics of sex, the arousal, the penetration, the release and so forth, but instead of actually taking in interest in it like most others his age, he simply saw it as another thing he knew. Sex would be a distraction in his later years. He rejected women left and right, picking apart their personalities and flaws in the blink of an eye each time. He grew cold over the years and decided sex was trivial and not necessary for him.

However, as he got older he realized just how... different he was. In the way of having fun with others, Sherlock was what might call a 'damp towel.' He didn't go out much and his interests were on a completely different spectrum. He didn't have any friends, he knew this, and didn't mind, for the most part. Except he was still a virgin. And he was much too clever and had too much self respect to let a little thing like that bother him, he told himself. Except it did bother him. Enough that just the mention of the word made him tense up, caused him to become defensive and change the subject. He was almost AFRAID of it. He didn't share his thoughts about it with anyone. Even with John.

John may have been his most trusted companion, but even Sherlock didn't divulge such personal things. Sex may have been the one sole thing that made him uncomfortable. Not everyone else's sex life, just his, or the lack thereof. John often had his girlfriends come over to meet him and were quickly put off by his excruciatingly frank personality, and left the flat, and John, behind in the hopes of never interacting again. Sherlock always snidely remarked on how John flirted with every girl in sight and that he needed a break.

"Sherlock-"

"Oh please, John, don't give me that look. You'll have a new one in here by next week."

"Can I for once bring someone in here before you chase her off?" John whined.

"I think that's my question to you, my friend." Sherlock said, while tinkering with his phone like a child.

"That's easy for you to say, I'm the one who brings all the women home. Eh-have you even been with anyone?"

"No, John, people are distracting and irritating and not much worth my time." Sherlock crouched on the sofa, still fiddling with his little iPhone and purposely refraining from making eye contact with his flatmate. John stared at Sherlock, almost fascinated. "Stop looking at me."

"I want to ask you something, Sherlock," John chuckled, trying not to laugh in the poor man's face.

"Leave me alone, John-"

"You've never been with anyone so are you a-"

"Shut up, John."

"A virgin?"

The room fell eerily silent for a bit. Sherlock's face was painted an especially bright red color after all of this. His failure to reply was in and of itself, enough of an answer. John, though unsurprisingly, let out a loud and crippling "HA" and sighed heavily, as if this news was somehow a huge surprise to him, that the great Sherlock Holmes was in fact, a virgin. It was almost laughable. Only it wasn't, and Sherlock appeared to be genuinely upset by what had just occurred. The silence went on for a while, as John typed on his laptop for a few dozen more minutes.

"Yes," the detective hummed.

John looked up, a bit flustered. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, I am a virgin."

John blushed, embarrassed for his friend. Perhaps he went a little too far? We all had our buttons, he figured, even Sherlock. "Yes, well, ahem. I apologize." The doctor idly typed away, engrossed into his latest blog entry.

"So you won't even ask further? You'll just leave it at that?" Sherlock sneered, almost insulted. He saw this as one of those little bonding moments people seemed to enjoy, although he was completely unaware of how to initiate it.

"Fine, fine," John replied exhaustedly. "So you've never had sex. Ever. At all."

"No. Never." Sherlock scowled. "I've never needed it. It's a distraction. It's not like I'll die without it; I don't need it. Plus it's not rocket science. I mean, you've had it, right? It can't be that difficult."

John chortled and grinned. "Heh. Well that may be true, but you can read a book cover to cover about flying a plane, but once you get into the cockpit, you'll be shit out of luck." The other man frowned. "It's not something you can read up on and suddenly know what you're doing. You have to experience it. You have to want it. And it's not always about connecting to a person spiritually and stuff like that. Sometimes people have it because it's good. Because sex is enjoyable. You know. Huh. I guess you don't."

John went back to task at hand and clacked at the keys for another half hour before Sherlock leapt up from his seat. "Sherlock? What are you doing?" he asked without looking up.

"I'm putting some tea on. Not sure why."

He knew. This was a way to seal the small experience they had just shared. It wasn't much, just a small token of their friendship.

After that whole discussion took place months before, John knew just how much that comment hit home for Sherlock. He recognized it as one of the spats siblings often got into. But Sherlock was upset, that much was true.

So, about a week after all of this, John brings up the topic again. Sherlock apprehensively discusses it, but soon reveals most of his feelings about it, something foreign to the both of them. John 'volunteers' to 'show him the ropes,' in the loosest form of that phrase. John explores Sherlock's erogenous zones; his ears, his thighs, and his belly button. He's a fan of hair pulling, a bit of a surprise to the both of them. John caresses the detective's face and kisses him gently; no other lips have touched his. The feeling is exhilarating, and at the same time, terrifying to the detective and he withdraws from the kiss and wipes his lips. John apologizes and Sherlock assures him that he's fine and leans back in again. Rather than fight for control, Sherlock allows the doctor to lead his hands where they should go, to unbutton his shirt and unzip his pants, relieving some of the pressure off of the bulge underneath it..

John adjusts on the couch while Sherlock sits up a bit more, his back up on the armrest. John tugs down at Sherlock's pants and underwear, revealing an impressive erection. Sherlock looks away, embarrassed, almost offended by his own girth and John takes the organ in his hand, nervous as anything. He figures if he tries it with another man, it may as well be the only friend he has. John strokes slowly, his hands enveloping the hard member; Sherlock squirming uncomfortably; he really didn't know he was so sensitive. He hadn't really touched himself before; nothing aroused him more than a serial murderer or a burglar.

Sherlock bucks underneath of John, whom has brought himself up to the detective's face. Sherlock's mouth is open as he gasps for air, almost smothered by the tingling in his spine and gut. John takes him into another kiss, this time with tongue and lips entwined. Sherlock has no clue what to do with his hands, as the knot in his stomach grows bigger, and his toes start curling, and as his legs start spasming uncontrollably. He's never felt this before, and his still petrified, but continues to let John touch him. He grabs John's collar and with one final squeeze, Sherlock experiences his first orgasm. He finishes on John's hand and his own stomach, and moans quietly as his climax ultimately ends.

Sherlock sighs, almost awestruck that that was his first time was shared with a man like John. He enjoyed himself, that much was true, but the original idea of him being someone was, in a sense, shattered. John awkwardly got up from his place and grabbed a nearby box of tissues and snatched a few from it. Sherlock took a few as well, and cleaned himself off in a hasty and jittery fashion.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" John asked, concerned. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea. "I'm sorry, you probably weren't ready for anything like that-"

"Oh John, do shut up. I'm fine." Sherlock buttoned his shirt back up and readjusted his pants and sat back up on the couch. Sherlock shuddered a bit, not letting on that he in fact, loved it. And wanted more of it. And knew if he got more of it, he'd want nothing else. That was the idea that left him petrified. "This... this is a one-time thing, John. I told you before, my work is my life. I don't need any more distractions like this."

John nods and agrees. A few weeks later, Sherlock brings it up again. He doesn't want to admit he misses the feeling, but John sees right through him. They kiss again and eventually perform on each other, another experience Sherlock (or John for that matter) never thought he would have. Sherlock dislikes the taste but endures it for the time being. Sherlock appreciates John taking over; despite being with him on a few occasions he has no clue what to do. The signs are evident that they have fooled around. Lestrade makes a note that Sherlock bends the topic to John a lot of the time. Mycroft notices how giggly and cheery they are together. it's cute. Strange, but cute. Ms. Hudson knew weeks ago; she does the men's laundry from time to time and the familiar smell is hard to ignore.

With each case they solve. Sherlock and John celebrate with sex. Sherlock enjoys it when John uses the riding crop in him; he denies it every time John brings it up. After about a month, Sherlock is comfortable is penetration, and John quickly complies. It hurts, very much, but Sherlock's ego will not allow him to cry out in pain or ask John to stop. The intimacy they share evolves rather quickly. Even with Sherlock's little 'crush' on Irene, he knows John is the one who will remain by his side.

So, sex is no longer alarming. It's something he knows about, something he's learned to enjoy.


End file.
